Toby to the Rescue
by KnightFury
Summary: When Holmes disappears without a trace, Watson fears that something might have happened to him and becomes determined to search for the Great Detective. Fortunately, he has Toby to assist him. A birthday gift for my friend, I'm Nova.


_**A birthday present for my friend, I'm Nova. Many happy returns, my dear! It is not as good as I would like it to be, but I sincerely hope that you enjoy it never-the-less.**_

I was becoming increasingly worried. Holmes had apparently disappeared without a trace - which, despite being far from unusual, never fails to fill me with dread. Besides, even after the heat of Afghanistan, I was sweltering in the oppressive, humid July heat and I feared that the detective would be faring far worse than I. Alone, I might have been forced to submit to Lestrade's advice and go home, but fortunately I had Toby with me. And so I told Lestrade that I was going to try to find our friend and determined to set the dog on his trail.

"I know Mr. Holmes said that he would meet us here, Doctor, but we both know that he often loses all sense of time when he happens upon a lead," the inspector reminded me. "I really wouldn't worry."

By this time, Holmes was more than an hour late and I was becoming increasingly certain that something was terribly wrong. Shaking my head, I told him as much and insisted that I would go in search of my friend.

Lestrade shrugged with a sigh. "All right, Doctor. You know Mr. Holmes better than I do. Constable! I want you to accompany Doctor Watson and do exactly as he tells you. Take a lantern; you never can tell where Mr. Holmes is concerned - you might be out searching after dark."

I thanked him and then turned my attention to the task at hand, explaining to the constable - a young, fresh-faced, clean-shaven man named Staunton - just what it was that I planned to do.

To begin with, Constable Staunton approached the work with enthusiasm. He knew how to manage a tracking dog and soon had Toby on the right scent. As time wore on and the end of his shift came and went, however, the fellow became hungry, weary and thirsty and thus became increasingly certain that Holmes would be back at Baker Street before we found him.

I took Toby's leash from the constable and told him that he could go if he wished it. I, however, had no intention of giving up and said so.

Staunton nodded solemnly. "If you want to carry on, I will too, Doctor," said he stoutly. "The inspector gave me my orders. Besides, you would never abandon one of us."

And so we continued as the light gradually faded into a stiflingly hot dusk. There was not a breath of wind and the humid air was no cooler in darkness than it had been in the sunshine.

"I need a drink," the constable complained when we passed an inn. "Come on, Doctor, you must be as thirsty as I am - and the dog. It wouldn't do any good if we collapsed. Besides, if Mr. Holmes does need our help, we will need to be fit and able."

He was right, of course. I grudgingly permitted him to lead me inside. I had to admit that I certainly did feel much better after a drink and I eased my guilt at having paused in our search to enquire whether anyone had been seen, fitting Holmes' description, earlier in the day. He had not been seen by the landlord, but that did not necessarily mean that he had not entered as he might have been wearing a disguise.

When we were quite refreshed again, we stepped back out into the hot summer evening. Toby soon found the scent trail and then we continued our search once more.

I was just beginning to think that we might never find Holmes at all and wonder whether we should call our search off when Toby gave an excited whine and leapt forward, scrabbling at the pavement as he attempted to break into a run.

"Wait! Slow down, Toby!"

He would not. Dragging me behind him in his excitement, he raced toward the bank of the Thames.

With my heart hammering within my ribcage, I handed the dog's leash to the constable and crept as close as I dared to the water's edge. I could see no sign of my friend and feared that he must have drowned.

"Doctor Watson!" Staunton called suddenly. "I think we might be off again."

I turned to see that Toby had his nose pressed to the ground while his head swept this way and that. I hoped that it meant that Holmes had come away from the water's edge.

The dog lead us further along the bank, the three of us hampered and slowed by the oppressive heat. At length we came upon a yard, old and disused. The dog gave a cry and surged forward with renewed energy, snapping his leash before disappearing in the twilight.

"Toby! Toby, come back!" I called anxiously, wondering where he could have gone.

The constable swung the lantern that he had brought this way and that. "He can't have gone far, Doctor. Perhaps he's found a way inside."

In the light of the lantern, I made out the shape of the dog's paw prints. They were faint, as the ground was becoming baked and hard, but there were marks in the dust clear enough to follow as long as we took our time.

"There, Doctor!" Staunton pointed to a gate a short distance ahead. It was rusty and old, and had been forced half-open recently. "He must have gone through there."

In single file we squeezed through the narrow space and into a cluttered yard that was filled with old and rusting machinery, listening all the while for the dog.

"You'd best stay close to me, Doctor Watson," the constable whispered. "This place could have any number of things lying about that we could fall over in the dark and there's only the one lantern."

He was of course right and I said as much.

"Which way did your dog go, do you think?" he asked, shining his lantern this way and that.

I crouched down and peered at the ground, but there were too many marks to be able to pick out those of Toby. Shaking my head in defeat, I stood.

"I cannot tell," I confessed.

It was at that moment that the cry of a dog made itself heard.

"This way, Doctor!" holding the lantern high, the fellow lead the way through the dark yard.

At length, we found Toby. The little dog was scrabbling at the edge of what appeared to be an old shaft.

"Holmes!" I gasped, realising with no little horror that my dear friend must have been at the bottom of the hole. I rushed forward, but was stopped by a shout from the constable.

"Best approach slowly, Doctor Watson; it'd never do for you to fall down there as well. You might do Mr. Holmes more harm and you would not be able to help him if you get hurt as well."

I heeded his advice and crept foreword with care, calling to Toby to be still as I did so. I was pleased when the dog heeded me and came to my side with his tail wagging low, a sign of his concern for my companion.

"Holmes?" I called anxiously. "Holmes, are you there? Can you hear me?"

I recognised the sound of his cough and then he groaned. "Watson? Can it really..." he was interrupted by another bout of coughing. "Can it truly be you?"

"Toby tracked you," said I, knowing that he was more than likely wondering how I could have possibly managed to find him. "Now, tell me, are you hurt?"

He chuckled and again began to cough fitfully. "Now I know that it is you. No, I am not badly hurt. Thirsty though - terribly thirsty."

"I'll go and get help from the nearest station," Staunton volunteered. "Will you be all right in the dark, Doctor?"

I assured him that I would and urged him to hurry, for I wanted to assure myself that my friend truly was none the worse for his adventures.

It felt like an age that we waited for the rescue party to arrive in that still and dark yard. I could hear nothing but the panting of the dog beside me and the occasional cough or groan from the hole beside which we crouched. My leg and shoulder was beginning to pain me, after being dragged about London by Toby, and my companion was much too quiet for my liking. I wondered how far Staunton had to walk and how long he would be.

It was Toby that heard footsteps approaching first. With a protective growl, he stepped in front of me and crouched, ready to spring at a moment's notice. I turned and peered into the gloom. Yes, as they approached I was able to make out the glimmer of lanterns and catch the odd snippet of conversation.

"Watson? What is happening?"

I turned my attention to my old friend, hoping that he was faring as well as could be expected, under the circumstances. "Your rescue party has arrived, old fellow."

It was Peter Jones who lead the party of Yarders, much to the dismay of my companion. "I shall never hear the end of this!" said he with rather an over-dramatic groan.

"Behave yourself," I scolded him as one of the constables assisted me in fastening a rope about my waist. "Now, Holmes, I am going to come down and join you, for a moment. Stand aside."

I heard him mutter something in response, but I could not tell just what it was that he had said. I suspect that it was just as well.

It took but a moment for the Yarders to lower me into the hole and then I was kneeling at the side of my companion, who was lying in the dust, presumably where he had fallen. As Jones helpfully lowered a lantern for me to see by, I noticed that Holmes' leg was twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle and that there was a sheen of perspiration at his brow.

"Are you in much pain, old fellow?" I asked of him with concern.

He swallowed with difficulty. "Not so much, now. I am more numb than anything. Why?"

"Dehydration," I diagnosed, before calling back up to the men standing about the hole. "Inspector Jones, Holmes needs something to drink. Did you bring anything that I can give to him?"

Someone had had the presence of mind to bring some water and that was lowered down to us next. I assisted my friend in drinking a small quantity, reminding him not to drink too much or too quickly.

My next task would be neither pleasant nor easy. I was also going to require assistance and asked for two volunteers to join us down there, while I sent others to find something to use as splints for Holmes' injured leg.

At last, it was safe to move my companion and I assisted him in leaving the hole. The climb was undoubtedly painful, but Holmes set to with neither a whimper nor a flinch.

Once the detective was clear, the lanterns were sent up behind him, followed by the official police officers. I was the last to leave the hole in which I had found my unfortunate companion.

"We should get Mr. Holmes to the nearest hospital," announced Inspector Jones.

"No!" snapped Holmes. "No hospitals. Watson will tend to me."

Knowing Holmes as I do, I was aware that he would never rest well enough to recover in a hospital bed and so I agreed that I would tend to him at Baker Street.

"But should your condition worsen, I shall have no choice but to send you to one."

The smile upon his face assured me that he would do all in his power to ensure that he would not become any worse.

I am sorry to say that Holmes did worsen that night. He developed a terrible fever and there were moments when I feared for him terribly. Toby did not go home, as I was unable to leave the injured and sick detective, and he instead remained at my dear friend's side, offering what comfort he could while I worked tirelessly.

As the sun rose, so the fever gradually deminished. I sat back and watched my friend sleep peacefully at last, while the dog kept watch over us both.

It was long after noon when the detective eventually stirred and opened his eyes. He could not remember being rescued, the night before, and was somewhat disorientated. Toby licked his long fingers, which seemed to soothe him, while I offered him a drink and told him of all that had happened.

"Watson, it would appear that I underestimate you, my dear fellow," said he with admiration. "Thank you for coming to my aid."

I patted Toby's head. "I did have some assistance," I reminded him.

"Yes indeed. We should see that Toby is given a handsome reward."

He was becoming drowsy again and I knew that I should let him rest, but I had to ask.

"Holmes... How ever did you come to be in that hole, in the first place?"

He gave a dismal groan and covered his eyes with trembling hands. "I shall never live it down! Were you planning on documenting this case, Watson?"

"Not if you would rather I did not," I assured him. "Though I shall naturally keep notes for our own usage."

"Thank you. I should prefer that it did not become common knowledge that Sherlock Holmes had to be rescued by a mob of Scotland Yarders."

I patted his shoulder gently. "I would leave that out, of course. But what happened?"

He coughed into his hand and sank back against his pillows with a shrug of his shoulders. "I blundered," said he, simply. "I followed my suspect, believing myself to be invisible to him, and he entered that yard..."

He paused to cough again and I hastily poured another helping of water into his glass and handed it to him.

"Thank you. I followed him into the yard. I lost sight of him. He came at me when I was unprepared. There was a boarded up shaft near to the place in which I was standing - and he clearly knew of it, because the fight between us was gradually directed towards it. In the heat, I was not a match for the scoundrel and he soon overpowered me and shoved me into the shaft. Does that quite satisfy your curiosity?"

Of course it did and I permitted him to return to the waiting arms of Morpheus. Poor Holmes! He needed as much sleep as he could manage, if he was to make a full and swift recovery.

I have not yet had an opportunity to bring the subject up with Holmes, but I should like very much to ask him to promise me that he will never again go off by himself without first telling someone at least roughly where he is going. I should hope that this might be a lesson learned.


End file.
